Old Friends, Old Enemies
by AriannaMalfoy
Summary: James Norrington is forced to flee Jamaica when he is accused of murder, leaving the Turners behind to clear his name. However, more is going on than is readily apparent and James soon discovers that a certain pirate is a large part of the puzzle. AU
1. Telltale Signs

Disclaimer: I definitely do not own any of the Pirates of the Caribbean characters or plot or anything like that because if I did I would be making a heck of a lot more money than I am.

Ok, new story. I think this is somewhat original, if it comes close to anyone else's plotline, I am terribly sorry but I did not see it. Here goes.

It had been a year since pirates had raided Port Royal and kidnapped the Governor's daughter, a year since Jack Sparrow had escaped the noose to reclaim his ship. The colony had recovered somewhat from the devastation; the shopkeepers, however, had been in an uproar for months due to the imminent wedding of Will Turner and Elizabeth Swann. Today, or rather tonight, at long last, the wedding was to take place. Commodore Norrington had given strict orders for the guard detail before leaving the fort; security had been increased tenfold on the harbor and the guardsmen still did not notice when the Black Pearl came sliding into the harbor. Jack Sparrow shook his head as he came swaggering into port; Navy men just did not change. That was what he was counting on as he headed for the church, hurrying as much as possible.

Just this once, however, there was another reason for the lax guard on the harbor. Commodore Norrington resisted the urge to roll his eyes when Lord Norville Buffington, one of the King's advisors and an utter fool arrived in Port Royal that same morning, decked out in some of the most ostentatious clothing James had seen in his life, even including his brief time at Court with his brother just after he joined the Navy. Lord Norville was a fat man, ruddy-cheeked and with a high, nasal laugh that grated on everyone's nerves, with the possible exception of Governor Swann's. Even the Governor, however, looked pained as he listened to the man prattle on, completely unaware of the general unfriendly mood of the nobles surrounding him. He was also the last of the guests to arrive before the wedding.

Will Turner stood waiting nervously in front of the church. A thousand worries went through his mind; what if at the last moment Governor Swann disapproved? What if someone passed out? What if – "Calm down, mate, you looked better than this when the Interceptor blew up!" The voice, familiar though it was, came from a face that Will barely recognized. He stared at the pirate for a moment in sheer amazement before, in a low whisper, he demanded,

"Jack?" The pirate captain grinned, confirming Will's suspicions. He certainly did not look like himself; his hair had been tamed and combed back, minus bandanna and ornaments, the kohl removed from around his eyes, and his beard trimmed short. He was wearing a full-sleeved white shirt, grey tight-fitting pants, what looked like riding boots, and only one of his normal assortment of dubious jewelry, a crest ring that looked suitably old.

"That's Lord Thackeray to you," Jack replied in his best high-society accent, the grin still tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Well, welcome then, my Lord," Will replied after a few moments' stunned silence. He grinned and moved away.

The wedding of William Turner II and Elizabeth Swann was talked about for years afterwards. The groom was handsome; the bride was radiant, smiling all the wider when she realized that Jack Sparrow was in attendance. Commodore Norrington stood as best man for the groom; James had made his peace with the young couple some months before, refusing to lose Elizabeth's friendship even if he was not the one on whom her affections rested.

Afternoon faded into evening and the celebration began. Jack hung around the edges, seeing that Lieutenant Gillette was also in attendance, and knowing that that same Lieutenant was out for his blood. The night was not a total loss, however. Many of the guests were either Lords or merchants, and many of them were discussing shipping information, little imagining that they could not speak freely here of all places. Jack mentally made a note of everything that was said, deciding to mention it to AnnaMaria when he got back to the Pearl.

There was one young woman who sat alone, her escort apparently otherwise occupied. She was not overly beautiful, but neither could Jack see any reason for the men in the room to ignore her. She had somewhat curly light brown hair and blue eyes with a somewhat ruddy complexion as compared to the other ladies. She looked upon the dancers wistfully, as though not expecting anyone to speak to her, much less ask her to dance. Jack shrugged and looked away, not terribly concerned, his gaze traveling to the center of the floor, where Will and Elizabeth were. He idly wondered how long it had taken Elizabeth to teach the blacksmith how to dance properly. He looked across the room – and then he spotted them. Across the room, there was a group of ladies, huddled together and whispering for all they were worth, in full view of whomever they were gossiping about. They sent occasional scandalized glances out; Jack followed the direction of their stares and saw the young woman he had noticed earlier. On a sudden impulse, he made his way over to her; he held out his hand when he reached her. The gavotte drew to a close and the musicians struck up a jig.

"Would you honor me with a dance?" Jack asked, letting his voice drop into an accent he had not used in a very long time. The young woman, Helena Eaton by name, looked up, startled. One of the other ladies frowned and sidled over, a winning smile on her face when she turned to Jack.

"My Lord, would you not rather dance with a lady of title?" she suggested, fluttering her eyelashes. As comprehension dawned, Jack looked the harpy over once, gave what could only be described as a snort of disgust, and turned back to Helena. She stood, now truly surprised, curtsied, and followed Jack out onto the dance floor.

Now, contrary to popular opinion, Jack Sparrow did in fact know how to dance. He danced with the same fluid grace with which he fought, his eyes focused intently on his dance partner. The jig drew to a close; the dance changed to a pavane and then a minuet and never once did the pirate falter. Will and Elizabeth, the only ones who had realized the true identity of "Lord Thackeray", stared in amazement. Neither of them had ever imagined that Jack had anything more than a rudimentary education, much less that of a nobleman.  
Commodore Norrington, too, was staring out at the dance floor. The candlelight flickered, hiding him from sight, but not preventing him from catching sight of Jack and Helena. He did not recognize the pirate but he was strongly reminded of another man, one that he had known in his childhood and brief time among England's nobility.

/Flashback/

James Norrington stood once again on the sidelines of a ball, never one for the social scene. His brother, however, was very much a part of London society, one of the best friends of the Earl of Huntingdon's eldest son Arthur. James himself was well acquainted with the younger son, John, or Jack as he was called by his friends and family; indeed, they had been friends since childhood. Both of them were in the Navy, the second son's traditional profession in both their families. Jack was dancing near the center of the floor, his feet whirling in the steps of a jig with one of the young ladies of the court, his eyes showing the same dark intensity that James saw now in the eyes of the man opposite Helena. Jack Huntingdon shot James a wolfish grin that spoke volumes and then he was gone again.../

Norrington shook his head to clear it of the memories. He had lost sight of them now, and besides which, it could not possibly have been him. Jack Huntingdon had disappeared the night their ship was attacked by pirates. No body was ever found, but no ransom demand was ever delivered either, an almost sure indication that he had not lived to be ransomed. No, it could not have been. James turned and walked away. Too much wine and a long day were undoubtedly taking their toll.


	2. Capture and Escape

Ok, warning on this chapter; this is not a Gillette-friendly story. I realize the error of my ways now, but I did not when I began to write this tale, and so Gillette came out rather evil. I promise that in future I will be more forgiving, but it's too late for this one.

Lord Norville Buffington retired for the night as a guest in the Governor's household. He entered his room, turned the key in the lock….. and stopped cold when he felt a pistol barrel at his head. He turned slowly, coming face to face with his eldest son, Frederick. His second-born held the pistol to his head. "Hello Father," Frederick said almost conversationally. "It didn't quite work, did it?" Lord Norville began to sweat.

"Now boys, let's not be hasty," he said nervously.

"Oh we're not being hasty. We've thought this out for a long time, haven't we Charles?" The younger nodded. "You were cagey, Father, but not cagey enough. But before you go, we'll honor your last wishes. You see, you're not the only one who's become inconvenient." The last thing Lord Norville Buffington ever saw was a standard naval-issue sword approaching…..

Commodore Norrington looked up from his desk the next morning with a start when a contingent of his own troops burst through his door. "What – "he began, rising to his feet. The men surrounded him, brandishing bayonets. Norrington watched as Gillette came up through the men, carrying what Norrington recognized as a warrant. Gillette smirked insufferably, even as James frowned.

"What is the meaning of this?" Norrington asked furiously.

"You are under arrest for the murder of Lord Norville Buffington, who was found dead this morning in the Governor's house. Take him away." James stared in disbelieving shock at his former subordinate, then in burning hatred. He shook off his men's hands and took a step forward.

"You," he breathed. "You traitorous – " he never got any farther, as at that moment Gillette signaled and the troops laid hold of Norrington again, this time rather forcibly, and dragged him away.

\Later that night\

James Norrington sat in the Fort Charles jail, fully appreciating for the very first time how truly uncomfortable a cell really was; the floor was hard beneath him, not to mention surprisingly cold for the Caribbean climate. The story had filtered down to him eventually; Lord Norville Buffington had been found with James's old sword buried up to the hilt in him, stone cold dead. Norrington had never liked the man, but he had certainly never wanted him murdered! It was preposterous, unthinkable! And yet the Governor had certainly been ready enough to believe it, swallowing Gillette's lies hook line and sinker. Norrington sank down in the cell, raking a hand through his hair. He would probably hang in the morning; no trial was given when the "facts" pointed so obviously to one man.

He huddled in the shadows when the guard passed, not willing to endure their stares, as if he were some rare beast in a cage that none of them had ever seen before. He clenched his teeth against a wave of self-pity that washed over him. No! He would not sit here like some tame animal waiting to be led to the slaughter! What would Turner or Sparrow or even his own brother do? He moved to the door, intent on making some sort of attempt at an escape.

"Commodore!" The voice came from the window, familiar and more welcome than Norrington was willing to admit.

"Sparrow?"

"Hush, you want to bring them running?"

"Sparrow, what are you doing here? Do you have a death wish?"

"Well, unless you were planning on taking up permanent residence, I'm here to get you out. Now listen. In a minute, all hell's going to break loose. You're going to sit tight and wait. I'll be in shortly to fetch you out." Norrington was caught between wanting to laugh in relief and protesting as survival instincts warred with duty in his mind. In the end, survival instincts won out and he nodded in the darkness.

"Very well," he replied. Jack was gone in a shuffling noise of feet. A moment later, a large explosion rocked the building from somewhere to the North. Norrington winced, thinking of the damage to the city. This port had only just recovered from the last time Jack Sparrow was here. The guards went running past as loud shouts echoed from outside. Running feet could be heard from the upper levels of the fort and dust fell down from the ceiling, causing James to cough. There was a moment's silence, then another explosion. The fort was now totally empty, James was sure of it, and apparently Jack was too, for the pirate came down the stairs to the jail two at a time a moment later. He was still dressed in his attire of the night before, having left his other clothing on the Pearl. Norrington gawked, hardly able to believe his eyes. "You  were at the wedding last night?"

"Didn't think I'd miss it did you? Stand back, don't want you getting hit." Jack drew his pistol, pointed it at the lock, and fired. Norrington did not have time to exclaim any further; he emerged from the cell a moment later, grabbing his sword and pistol and stripping off his naval jacket, realizing regretfully that he would probably not be needing it wherever he was going. They left the fort a few moments later, completely unnoticed.

James had never felt more strange in his life. In one day's time he had gone from being the highly respected Commander of the entirety of Port Royal's military force to being a hunted fugitive, hiding in the shadows from the men who had up till today been his allies. A shout from the fort signaled that his escape had been noticed and began the chase in earnest. Jack led him through the twisting, turning streets, carefully avoiding the jingle and beat of the soldiers. There was a nervous moment when a dog began to bark; James discovered quickly just how exhaustive the pirate captain's knowledge of Port Royal was in the wild run that followed, as they ducked through stables and streets that Norrington had not known existed.

"Why are you doing this?" Norrington asked at one point, panting from the run.

"Because when Elizabeth Turner asks a favor, you don't ignore it, and because if you did kill Buffington, you deserve a medal," Jack replied. Norrington regarded Jack with a confused stare for a moment but the pirate offered no further explanation. His sun-darkened face was uncommonly serious; for some reason, that was not as reassuring as it should have been. Jack signaled with his hand and they were off again through Port Royal's darkened streets.

They reached the Turner's new residence just in time to miss a contingent of soldiers who had been sent to search for the missing Commodore. Will met them at the door, lantern in hand. "Come in here, hurry." In a low voice he added, "Explosions, Jack?" Jack shrugged.

"You asked for a distraction; you never said what kind, mate." Will rolled his eyes in exasperation and turned to Norrington. He inspected the man for a long moment; James looked ten years older than he had the previous day, lines of fatigue and worry etched on his face along with a disbelieving, hunted expression. He was lightly coated in prison grime and dust and the proud man's shoulders slumped slightly.

"Are you alright, Commodore?"

"As well as can be expected, yes," Norrington replied. "Thank you."

"This way then. We haven't much time, they'll be back."

Elizabeth rose from where she had been waiting at the table to greet Norrington with a sisterly hug. "James, thank God." Norrington returned the embrace briefly and then turned away to follow Will. In no time at all, Norrington was dressed in one of Will's old vest and shirt arrangements with loose-fitting trousers and his own boots. His wig and hat were left behind, discarded in favor of his own dark hair that stuck out less. Will saw them off, pausing to look at his friend for a long moment.

"We'll clear your name. You worry about keeping yourself alive until I can send word with someone reliable."

"For God's sake don't send Gillette then," James replied. "I don't know who's paying him but he's with them. Don't trust him." Will frowned and nodded.

"Good luck then, Commodore. Jack – "

"I'll look after him, don't worry, whelp." With that they were gone out the door and back onto the streets.

Jack hardly knew what had hit him; one moment he was running through an alleyway near the harbor and the next he was looking into the very frightened eyes of the woman who had just run into him. There was a shout from the house from which she had come, and a tall man emerged, limping slightly. Gunshots rang out; Jack pushed the girl away, towards Norrington and some small amount of safety, and fired only one return shot before running after the others.

They halted at the edge of town. Norrington took the young woman by the shoulders gently in an attempt to reassure; he drew back in surprise when he realized who he was holding.

"Miss Eaton?" Norrington asked incredulously. Jack frowned.

"What are you doing here love?" he asked bluntly.

"Coming with you," she answered.

"Oh no you're not," Jack started to say. Helena's eyes flashed, a very deep shade of blue.

"If I don't, it's my life and possibly his as well!" she replied. "I know who really murdered Lord Buffington, and they don't want me to tell; you've just seen that." Jack appraised her for one moment before answering.

"Alright. Hurry up then, they're coming."

Whew! Long chapter for me! So now that I've done all this work, I'd like to see some profit in reviews, savvy?


	3. Explanations

And now we find out what is going on here.

Helena Eaton had woken in the night to the sound of an explosion and worse, men's voices in the tailor's shop that was her family's business and life. She sat up quickly and, upon determining that she was not in any immediate danger where she was, eased out of bed, knowing that the creak of the boards in her room would give away her location. She opened her door cautiously, intending to warn her parents. She made her way to their room, but the sight that met her eyes when she opened the door was one of horror. Matthew and Ella Eaton were beyond caring what went on in the shop; indeed, they were beyond caring about this world. Helena stood, frozen to the spot; she came back to her senses only when a hand reached out to seize her wrists, twisting them behind her back. She let out a cry, at once pained and startled. "The last one," the man behind her said in a satisfied tone of voice. He cocked his pistol; she felt cold metal against her head. She closed her eyes… and opened them again when another explosion rocked the building. The man loosened his grip on her wrists for a split second, all the distraction Helena needed. She jerked free, jabbing him viciously with her elbow even as she stomped hard on his foot and then ran down the stairs.

"Charles, she's getting away!" The tall form of Charles Buffington (and she knew him now) loomed before her out of the shadows, blocking the doorway before her. She looked around desperately and seized on an iron poker lying by the fireplace; she bashed Charles in the shins with it and ran even as he howled in pain. Behind her Frederick Buffington cursed; she did not hear the jangle of soldiers arriving as she ran for the street. She had not yet dropped the poker when she ran into Jack and James quite by chance just outside the house. The guard arrived at the shop at the same time that Frederick Buffington took two steps down the alley, intending to go after his quarry.

"My Lord Buffington – what –?" The captain of the guard asked in confusion. "We heard screams and gunshots – and Commodore Norrington has escaped the fortress – " Buffington turned back, pasting a saddened expression on his face.

"My brother and I also heard the cries – we came just in time to prevent Norrington murdering the girl as well. There are two dead bodies in the house." The captain looked even more confused.

"Why would Commodore Norrington want to kill – "

"What reason had he to murder my father?" Buffington flared, cutting him off. "Now after them! He took the girl and went that way!" he pointed in the direction of the harbor, " and you! Clean up the mess inside and help my brother!" The soldiers scurried to obey.

"So, let me get this straight," James said as they ran. "You knew that it wasn't me who killed Buffington when they arrested me?"

Helena did not hear him at first. In her mind, she was replaying Buffington's words. The last one. The last Eaton. They were dead. She could still see her mother lying on the bed, looking for all the world as though she were sleeping, except for all the blood…

"Care to answer the man's question, luv?" Jack asked. She shook her head and met the pirate's eyes.

"What?" she asked, confused.

"Ye said you knew who killed Buffington. Care to explain why the good Commodore went to gaol for it if you knew?" She grimaced, coming back to herself.

"I interrupted their conversation on the terrace last night by accident… I had gone out toward the beginning of the reception to get some air. I thought nothing of it at the time – it was innocent enough. But after I heard the news -"

"Then for God's sake why didn't you say anything!"

"With all due respect Commodore, I'm not suicidal. I was waiting for the opportune moment." Jack grinned, recognizing the use of one of his favorite phrases.

"And when was that to be? The hanging?" James asked icily.

"Actually, yes. More witnesses, less chance that I would be endangering my life in the process of trying to save yours," Helena answered. "I didn't think they would remember me, or that they would move so fast. I'm sorry." Norrington stared, flabbergasted and more than a little angry; Jack grinned. This might not be so bad after all.

They had reached the harbor by this time and now skirted around it to reach the Black Pearl. Norrington shook his head; he was not sure whether to be glad or extremely depressed at how lax the guards had been to allow the ship to dock in plain sight of the fortress without so much as an eyebrow being raised.

"Who goes there?" came a low call from the ship.

"Who else would it be a day late and in the middle of the night?" Jack asked. "Lower the gangplank and weigh anchor. We 'ave to leave in a hurry." Mr. Gibbs' face could be seen over the side of the ship before the gangplank was lowered and they hurried on board. Norrington realized with a shock that he knew the man from his days in the Navy. How had he ended up here? Gibbs also recognized Norrington it seemed; he raised his eyebrows and looked at Jack for a moment before going about his duties. If Jack wasn't explaining, Gibbs wasn't asking. Annamaria looked at them a bit more skeptically, hoping that the girl would not make too much fuss and the man would not have to be trained in the running of a ship.

"Man the braces! Let down and haul to run free!" Jack ordered, feeling relief wash over him. They had made it. The crew went scurrying even as Jack took the helm. James looked around for a moment and then went where he was most needed, lending a much needed hand to the relatively small crew. Helena stood next to Jack, holding back the urge to weep now that the danger was passed for the moment. Jack seemed to notice, looking closer at the girl's face when they were safely out of the bay. "You look done in. Anna, show her to my cabin – "

"Oh no you don't, Jack Sparrow. She can come with me; there's no need for her to spend the night with you," Annamaria said with a pointed look at Jack. He grinned roguishly; Annamaria shook her head and turned to Helena, who had raised her eyebrows at the mention of Jack's name; she, after all, had only seen him as "Lord Thackeray."

"Come with me then, Miss – ?"

"Helena Eaton." Annamaria nodded silently and moved away over the deck with Helena behind her. Jack grinned after them and then turned to Gibbs.

"Take the helm for a bit? I have to get out of this frippery," he said, gesturing to his wedding finery. Gibbs nodded and Jack retreated to his cabin.


	4. Questions and Suspicions

Thank you everyone for all the reviews once again! And here is the next chapter!

Helena sank down onto the bed in Anna's cabin heavily. She could not believe it. In one night she had abandoned the shop and the town she had lived in all her life and lost her parents. She was now sitting in the first mate's cabin on the most infamous pirate ship currently on the high seas, sharing living space with the equally famous Jack Sparrow, whom she had danced with just the night before without realizing it. It was just too much. Maybe if she simply closed her eyes and went to sleep she would wake to find herself in her own bed above the tailor's shop… she shook her head. No, things could never go back to the way they had been before.

She paused to consider Jack Sparrow. She was not quite sure what to think of the roguish pirate captain. On the one hand, he had made the other ladies insanely jealous of her the night before and acted like a perfect gentleman the entire time, for which she could not help but be grateful. On the other hand, he was a pirate, a notorious scoundrel with few crimes that had not been added to the list of his offences. So which side was she to expect in the following days and probably weeks that she would spend on his ship: the gentleman or the pirate?

"And who says that they cannot be the same thing?" she asked herself. "What of your own grandfather?"

"He was only rumored to be a pirate," she answered herself. "There is nothing to say that he was not simply a very rich man from a perfectly respectable background who had a profitable career from somewhere else." And behind all these questions there lingered the grief that she was too tired to acknowledge tonight. She went to sleep with her mind still in turmoil, and she slept very lightly until Annamaria came in.

Norrington was no less confused, but his questions were of a different nature entirely. What on Earth did Sparrow mean when he said that the man who killed Norville Buffington deserved a medal? And what experience did Jack have with the man anyway? He was a pirate, he should have known virtually nothing of one specific nobleman, much less enough to condemn him so thoroughly at the mere mention of his name. It simply made no sense! No more sense, in fact, than a Commodore of the British Navy becoming part of a pirate crew, and yet that had happened. James tried to put all such things out of his mind with that resigned statement but still went to sleep with the nagging sensation that he was missing something important.

Morning dawned in Port Royal to the sight of smoke and the smell of burnt wood. The gallows, an old guard outpost, and an abandoned building near the waterfront had all been destroyed by the explosions, leaving everyone perplexed as to what possible purpose could have been served by the destruction of such seemingly meaningless targets. The answer became clear when the Commodore's disappearance was announced and the search patrols sent out once more to look for him.

Frederick Buffington paced back and forth. This was not going at all to plan. The Commodore and the sole witness to their crime had both escaped him and he could not for the life of him think where either of them might have gone. He had checked the houses of all those who might shelter the Commodore and he could not very well search the houses of the girl's friends without raising suspicions. There was no way Norrington could have left the port and yet he seemed to have done just that. But how, and on whose ship? There was a knock at the door, diffident and yet at the same time eager. He sighed.

"Come in." Captain, formerly Lieutenant, Gillette opened the door, much to Buffington's dismay. He did not like the man any better than Norrington had, but he had proved to be the means to the Commodore's downfall, and was far more familiar with the people here than Buffington was. Buffington however, unlike Norrington, did not intend to make the mistake of trusting the power-hungry little bandy rooster.

"Any luck yet, my Lord?" Gillette asked, his tone obsequious. Buffington shook his head in frustration.

"Nothing. No trace of Norrington or the girl." He turned to Gillette. "What do you know of Norrington? His enemies, his friends?" Gillette thought for a moment before answering.

"His only enemies have been pirates. His reputation as a pirate-chaser has had them burning him in effigy for years I'd imagine. Oh, and the Turners."

"The Turners?" Gillette nodded and sneered.

"She turned him down only last year to marry the blacksmith and the blacksmith managed to make Norrington look like a fool when he ran off with Jack Sparrow in the Interceptor last year and then thwarted Norrington when he tried to hang Sparrow."

Buffington nodded thoughtfully. There was little doubt then that the Turners would not be friendly to the Commodore under any circumstances then. And yet… hadn't Norrington served as William Turner's best man at the wedding? That indicated a certain amount of friendliness. The Turners, however, had not raised any protest when the Commodore had been arrested. Perhaps because they intended to help him escape? And if they were well acquainted with a pirate, it would be no hard task for them to contact that pirate and wait for his arrival to get the Commodore out of the town altogether. Norrington might even now be at their house, hiding in the cellar or some such place!

But Buffington had just seen Norrington the night before, heading for the harbor. That implied a ship already waiting. Unless the pirate was already in Port Royal, the scenario that Buffington had just concocted made no sense. And no pirate with good sense came to a town where he had already come close to being hung just to see a friend's wedding. No, it was just too improbable to be true. Norrington was still somewhere in Port Royal, he had to be.

"Order a search of all the ships anchored in the harbor and send a patrol to search the Turners' house and the blacksmith's shop," Buffington ordered. Gillette appeared confused.

"But the Turners are – "

"I am well aware of what you have just said, I am not deaf! Do as you are told, Captain," Buffington snapped, turning back to the desk and his father's things, all of which had to be sorted through. Gillette nodded, bowed, and walked out, shutting the door behind him gently.

Wow it's been a long time since I updated on this one. I had contemplated adding on to the end of this chapter, but it wouldn't have fit with the rest of the chapter, so it'll have to wait. The next update should take a lot less time since I already have it written.


	5. Coming to an understanding

Lucky – I am quite frankly astonished that you found this but I am so glad that you reminded me about it because I do intend to continue with it. I have been so busy with the Lord of the Rings thing that I simply ran out of time for this one.

James was kept busy over the next few days, largely on Jack's orders, almost as if the pirate captain knew that he would brood over the situation if he did not occupy his mind with other things. James was not sure whether to be grateful or disturbed at this unusually acute perception on Sparrow's part; it was as if the disreputable pirate knew James's mind better than James did at this point. And yet Jack was more outrageously, well, Jack than ever before. There were times, though, when Norrington caught the man staring at him, a thoughtful expression on his face. That was even more disturbing, knowing what he did of Jack Sparrow's determination to use any situation to his advantage.

The Commodore-turned-fugitive turned his attention to Helena Eaton. He had not yet pressed her for the details of the knowledge that had ended in her parents' deaths and her subsequent exile from Port Royal, not wanting to upset her in the first days of what had to be a tremendous grief. He could not help but wonder, though, at her incredible bad luck. She was only a tailor's daughter, should no more have been involved in this than Sparrow should have, and yet here she was, standing on the deck of a ship or, more appropriately, sitting, appearing to be stitching a sail that had ripped. She was swamped in the material, small as she was, her attention focused on the task at hand. She did not notice that a certain pirate's eyes were watching her as well; Norrington did.

For all of his ill – mannered and roguish remarks the first night, Sparrow had been remarkably tolerant of and even kind to the young woman. His respect for her seemed to have risen a notch when she had asked on the second day what she could do to help aboard ship; he had, Norrington supposed, expected her to cause difficulty as Elizabeth had when aboard the previous year. Helena Eaton, however, was no nobleman's daughter; she had grown up working and would not be likely to stop simply because she was in unfamiliar surroundings. She was, however, understandably sheltered and so Norrington kept a watchful eye on Sparrow. Just then the pirate captain felt James watching him, rolled his eyes, and walked away, gesturing in a rather unflattering manner towards the Commodore. Norrington smiled; for once he had won the argument.

They were a week outside Port Royal before they came upon another ship. There was a cry from the crow's nest; "Ship hull-down to the West, coming our way! It's a blackbirder, Captain!" Jack looked up sharply, his face unguarded for a moment, and Norrington was given a glimpse of the real Jack Sparrow behind all the masks and tom-foolery. His eyes were wary and alert; every muscle was tense. He frowned.

"You're sure?"

"Aye, Captain. Sailing with a bone in her teeth too, must be empty."

Jack's lips thinned; he brought up his own telescope to take a look. He nodded grimly. "Miss Eaton, you may want to go below; you won't want to see this," he said, turning to the young woman and adding the last bit before she could protest. She closed her mouth and nodded, apparently willing to accept his word for it. He turned to the crew, which included Norrington. "Load the cannons and run up the red flag," he said lowly. James started visibly; the red flag meant no quarter.

"Sparrow, I refuse to stand here and watch you do something like this, much less help to carry out that order!" he exclaimed, shocked at the pirate's ferocity. Jack's eyes flashed; he turned to Norrington with a scowl on his face.

"It's **Captain** Sparrow, and you'll do as you're told, unless you'd like to join the lady in the cabin. I don't like slavers." James started to protest, but decided better of it. There was something wild and wolfish in the pirate's gaze that brooked no argument; that did not mean that Norrington had to like the command. He watched with a sick horror as the black barge approached them and then tried desperately to change course when they saw the Jolly Roger go up. They were too late; cries of agony reached Norrington's ears as the cannons went off and hit their targets.

"Why, Sparrow?" he murmured, staring at the carnage before him. Some of the pirates had begun to search the barge's deck, finishing off those the cannons had not hit. Jack came up behind the reluctant pirate just in time to hear his question.

"Wait until they've finished over there, and I'll show you why," he answered. Norrington jumped slightly, then looked over to the pirate with nothing short of disgust. He could think of no reason for this savagery save greed or perhaps some personal vendetta; neither were good enough reasons for such outright butchery. Sparrow watched him, infuriatingly calm after what he'd done. Norrington turned away.

"There is no good reason for this," he replied. Sparrow sighed.

"Come with me," he said. It was meant to sound like a request but Norrington knew an order when he heard one. He clenched his fists and followed the pirate across the gangplank to the barge and then down to the hold.

The first thing he noticed was the smell; in years afterwards James would wake in the night and imagine he yet smelled that odor, a nauseating mix of sweat and blood and excrement all mingled that threatened to choke him. It was dark to such an extent that James could no longer see Jack once he had disappeared below the deck and cramped beyond belief.

"Three hundred slaves are packed in here," Jack said from somewhere in the darkness, his voice gone hard. "Men, women, children, it doesn't matter to them so long as they'll bring in a profit. Half of them die on the way to Martinique; the other half are brought further in to be sold to the sugar plantations. And you ask why I object?"

"This is revolting," James choked out, biting back on the urge to retch. Jack said nothing; he simply led the way out of the hold.

"Sink her," he ordered once he reached the Pearl. Gibbs nodded; he knew how both Jack and Annamaria felt about slave ships. Norrington watched as the barge sank below the waves, now deeply morally confused. Who was he to condemn: the depraved monsters who would do this to their fellow humans, or the pirate who had spared no mercy in putting an end to them?

He joined Jack on the deck that night; he cleared his throat before speaking. Sparrow remained staring out to sea; James almost didn't notice that the pirate's shoulders had gone stiff.

"I – owe you an apology. You were right," Norrington admitted. The tenseness receded.

" 'Pology accepted. You weren't entirely wrong." James started, then nodded slightly in acceptance of the admission and turned away. It did not occur to him until much later how odd it was that Sparrow should have felt the need to explain himself to Norrington or that he had tensed when he sensed the Commodore behind him, almost as if he had dreaded what James might say.

Ok now for the definitions and such. A blackbirder is, obviously, a slave ship, so named for their often black hulls and the fact that slaves were called blackbirds in slang terms. "Hull – down" means just visible on the horizon, and "sailing with a bone in her teeth" means sailing so fast that the ship makes a white wave in front of her, thus the "bone."

A.N. Please note that Jack was not being entirely altruistic about the slavers; an empty slave ship meant one that had just been paid after dropping off its cargo. It would have been more than worth the pirates' effort even if they didn't care about the slaves.


	6. Port Royal

By popular demand, and the return of my muse for this story, I have finally gotten to the point where I have enough material to update again. I could make excuses, but that would hardly get me any further, and so here it is, the next chapter, coming right up!

Elizabeth Turner stood in the door of her new home, absolutely outraged. The head of the contingent of soldiers who had appeared at her door looked extremely uncomfortable, faced with the irate governor's daughter.

"You overstep yourself, Sergeant!" she protested.

"We're under orders, Miss," the sergeant said apologetically. "Captain Gillette – "

"Has no authority to order anyone to search the home of the governor's daughter," Elizabeth cut him off.

"You'll have to take that up with Captain Gillette, Miss," the sergeant replied uncomfortably. "The sooner this search is over the sooner we can leave you in peace," he added quietly. "Please, m' Lady." Will, standing behind his wife, nodded; Elizabeth stepped aside slowly. The soldiers entered the house; there were sounds of things being picked up and put aside again, of doors opening and closing, and of rifle butts banging on the floor. The sergeant came back through the door after about ten minutes.

"Are you satisfied?" Elizabeth asked testily. The soldier bowed.

"Entirely, m' Lady. Sorry to have troubled you." Elizabeth nodded; the soldiers went on their way. Will came up behind her.

"That was too close, Will," Elizabeth whispered. "They're too close. They've almost figured it out."

"The question is: who are 'they'?" Will said. "Gillette isn't behind this, but whoever is is moving fast. Too fast." He shook his head. "Can't your father do anything?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "He won't listen. He refuses to consider the idea that James was set up, and Frederick Buffington hovers over him. He has refused to leave until Commodore Norrington has been found and hanged." Will frowned.

"Lord Buffington…wasn't he the one who found…?" Elizabeth nodded and grimaced.

"They're accusing James of that crime as well; though I'm sure he had nothing to do with it." Will sighed in frustration. He did not know that, back at Fort Charles, Frederick Buffington was doing the same thing.

Philip Norrington arrived in Port Royal the next day.

"What is he doing here!" Frederick Buffington almost snarled when Charles entered the guest room and reported the other lord's arrival. "He can't have heard so soon! Who told him?" Charles shrugged helplessly. Frederick looked out the window. He cursed when he saw another man in Philip's company. The situation was quickly going from bad to worse.

"Arthur Huntingdon's here as well," Frederick said, disgust and a little panic in his voice.

"What?" The question came from Sir Philip Norrington. He could hardly believe his ears. James, arrested for murder? The younger Norrington had written only two months ago and now Philip arrived to find that his brother had apparently killed a fellow Lord and awaited execution upon his capture.

"I think you had better explain a bit further, Governor," Arthur Huntingdon said, a shade more calmly. It was not, after all, his brother who was in such trouble. Governor Swann looked at him strangely for a moment.

"Have we met…?"

"Lord Huntingdon, and no, I don't believe we have," Arthur answered with a frown.

"Strange; you seem familiar somehow." Arthur gave the Governor a pointed look; Swann cleared his throat embarrassedly. "Ahem, yes, you see…" Governor Swann launched into a description of the circumstances surrounding James Norrington's arrest and subsequent escape and disappearance. Philip listened with stony face and a sinking feeling in his stomach. That James had run did not help matters; indeed it made him look even more guilty. But run to where?

"My daughter and son-in-law believe that he is innocent, but I am afraid that the evidence contradicts them," Weatherby Swann finished.

"Then perhaps you should look closer at the evidence, Governor Swann," Philip said coldly. "Don't you think this is all a little too pat to be believable? Why would James do such a thing?"

"Because your brother is, I am afraid, quite deranged," a voice said from behind them. Philip stiffened; Arthur glared outright. He knew and hated that voice.

"Gentlemen, I presume you know Lord Buffington?" the Governor asked self-importantly. Philip recognized that tone; it was perfectly obvious whose camp Swann was in. He shared a look with Arthur; the younger man nodded and grimaced.

"Indeed," Philip replied, turning away. "Governor Swann, I wonder if I might speak to you privately on the subject later; the journey has been long and it would appear I have much to consider." His tone was strained.

"Of course, of course; I will have the guest chambers prepared." Arthur privately wondered how many guest chambers Swann had that he could house four noblemen at once. He did not protest though, as they were led toward the Governor's house and away from the potential argument. They could not afford to afford to have Buffington become concerned enough about their presence to act at this early stage; they had to be able to move freely if they were to clear James's name.

Sorry about the lack of Jack and company but this chapter had to deal with what was going on back home so to speak. I promise next chapter will be almost all the Pearl and crew.


	7. Discussions

I'm back! And after only /checks/ a little over four months! A record!

Governor Swann retired to his study directly after the conversation with Sir Philip and Lord Huntingdon. He was faced with a problem here, a political dilemma of the first magnitude. Weatherby Swann was nothing if not politically savvy and he knew that to displease the wrong person could result in highly unpleasant consequences for both him and his daughter. So who did he choose?

Lord Buffington's father had been one of the King's Advisors and the new Lord had every right to wish to see his father's murderer hanged. On the other hand, Sir Philip had a point; the evidence was just a little too perfect. And his friend, Lord Huntingdon, was an Earl, a lesser rank than the Marquis (for so Buffington was), but no less powerful in Court circles. Yet he could not ignore Buffington's demand for justice. Swann turned to the page, his decision made. When in doubt, compromise.

"Please inform Captain Gillette that I wish to see him immediately in my study," he said.

The former Lieutenant reported with admirable speed to the Governor's house.

"You wished to see me, my lord?" he asked. The Governor frowned. He did not like Gillette; the difference between him and Norrington was like the difference between bad champagne and a good brandy; while one was annoyingly bubbly and left a bad taste in the mouth, the other was smooth and sophisticated. The Captain's manner made up his mind once and for all; he would get Norrington back if at all possible.

"You are to take the Harrier and go after Commodore Norrington. If and when you find him, I want him brought back here for trial. Listen very closely, Captain; do not even think of taking the law into your own hands. I want him alive and in one piece." Gillette gaped for a moment before, with a flustered shake of his head, he bowed and left the room.

Gillette hastened to Lord Buffington's chambers almost as soon as the Captain had left the Governor's presence. He knocked twice before entering.

"Yes, Gillette, what is it?" Frederick's sharp voice issued from the chair in front of the fireplace.

"My lord… I am to bring Commodore Norrington back to Port Royal on the Governor's orders. He is to be tried."

"_What?_"

"I am to leave at once my lord." For a brief moment, Gillette wondered if he might have done better to stay silent, so malevolent was the look Buffington sent his way. His fears were assuaged as Buffington turned away; the young man began to pace restlessly.

"My lord?" Gillette asked diffidently, not wanting to provoke Buffington's temper any further. Buffington stopped pacing and faced Gillette.

"You have been sent to go after Norrington. You are looking for the Black Pearl; he will have gone with the pirate if anyone. When you find them, they will put up a fight; there will be bloodshed, count on it. If Norrington were to be a casualty…." Gillette's eyes widened in understanding. "He cannot be allowed to come back to Jamaica to stand trial." Gillette blanched at the thought of outright murder, but he swallowed hard and nodded. He had already committed himself when he had provided Buffington with (he cringed away from the word stolen) Norrington's sword from his office; he could not back out now.

"Yes my lord."

"You are dismissed." Gillette bowed and gratefully excused himself from Buffington's presence.

* * *

"Oi, Ramrod! We could use some help over here!" The cry came from across the ship; Norrington gave a barely audible sigh. The request for help was not unwelcome; he was doing nothing urgent at the moment. The hated nickname, a legacy of his days as an over-stringent Lieutenant, however, was fast becoming a point of annoyance. 

"James!" he called in exasperation, straightening. "How many times must I say it?"

"At least another hundred, and you still sound like a bleedin' courtier," Jack Sparrow's voice said teasingly behind him. The pirate captain stepped up beside him, making his presence known. "Do it yerselves, you lazy sods!" Jack shouted at the two who had yelled for help. "Like a word with you in my cabin," he said more quietly. James looked startled for a moment and then nodded.

The decision to hide him among Jack's crew had been reached on the second day of the voyage; as Jack put it "they'll never look twice at another scruffy pirate." James was not having much luck; he had frozen the first time someone asked his name, and only Gibbs's quick thinking had prevented the whole story coming out. Norrington was not sure whether to thank or curse the man; on the one hand, no one was suspicious and on the other he was now stuck with the ridiculous moniker of "Ramrod" and the dubious distinction of having been, according to Gibbs's story, "one o' me old shipmates back in the Navy. Good lad." Annamaria was the only one who did not seem taken in by the fiction. She did not say anything, certainly, but neither did she trust him; she watched with wary eyes and one hand uncomfortably close to her pistol.

Jack's cabin was not what Norrington had expected. Books lined the walls; maps lay spread across the desk, all marked in what had to be Jack's own hand. The titles on the bookshelves were not frivolous reading either; there were some serious scholarly works to be found there. James regarded the pirate captain with surprise and a little puzzlement. Every time he thought he had the man figured out, something else challenged his perceptions.

Jack seemed to know what Norrington was thinking; he smiled crookedly. "Wasn't always a pirate, mate," he said with a wave of the hand. James raised an eyebrow, but Jack did not elaborate. His expression grew suddenly serious as he regarded his reluctant crewman.

"Got a bit of a problem, Jim," he said, getting to the point. "We're headed to a place that no Navy man is ever s'posed to see, let alone set foot in, and being as you're going to end up Commodore again at some point…" he let the sentence hang and shrugged, letting Norrington draw the obvious conclusion. "You've got two options. Either I lock you below deck for the next two weeks so that you can't tell even if you want to, or you give me your word, on whatever you believe in, that you'll never breathe a word of it to a living soul." Norrington frowned; Jack shook his head. "I've promised the crew a week in port; can't deny it to 'em. It's one or the other." James looked up startled; that made a second time that Jack had taken the words out of his mouth.

He turned away, thinking. To be locked below-decks might blow his cover, but to give his word was to turn his back on the duty that he had striven to fulfill for so long. Running away to sea to save his life was one thing, but to turn a blind eye to criminals… no. He could not -

"And where has duty gotten you?" a malicious little voice inside his head, the more pragmatic part of him, asked. "Fifteen years of diligence and duty and what it got you was a cold cell in Port Royal's gaols. If it weren't for Sparrow and the Turners you would have hung the following morning! Fifteen years without so much as a smudge on your record, and the Governor –" He stopped that voice before it could go any further. He was not going to think about that particular aspect of it right now, but nonetheless it was true. All his concern for duty had gotten him nowhere; maybe, just maybe, it was time to try things another way. He took a deep breathe and turned back.

"You have my word," he said, almost ashamed of himself as soon as he'd said it. Jack grinned crookedly.

"I knew you could be reasonable," he said. James looked up; he thought he could see a hint of sympathy on the pirate's lean face as he sensed James's misery.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of," he said. "You can't go back if you're dead." James nodded, still troubled. Jack shook his head. Clearly, it would take more persuading than he'd thought.

"There're women and children there, mate. You're protecting them as much as anyone else." Norrington visibly relaxed. There was something that he could condone; he allowed himself a small, grateful smile in the pirate's direction.

"Dismissed." Norrington turned to go; he stopped at the door.

"Sparrow - "

"Captain," Jack corrected absently.

"Where are we headed?" Jack grinned even wider.

"Tortuga."


	8. Battle on the High Seas

I have just beaten my all-time record; two updates within as many weeks. Lucky, this one's for you.

Just a short note: I have changed Norrington's nickname in the previous chapter from Jim to Ramrod at the suggestion of my editor and story consultant, my mother. (This is because I am far too much like Norrington myself and not at all gifted at coming up with these ridiculous nicknames where she is).

The men aboard the _Harrier_ were not happy. They did not like their new Captain; Gillette was arrogant, over-eager, and, when the mood took him, malicious. He had already had no fewer than eight men flogged for offenses which, under Commodore Norrington, would have earned merely a reprimand. Most of them resented his quick promotion and a few of them even suspected that the Commodore had been wrongfully accused.

Lieutenant Theodore Groves was one such. He had known the Commodore for a good many years; he simply could not imagine, in his wildest dreams, that the man he knew could have murdered anyone, especially not a fop like Buffington. Gillette's enthusiasm for the chase unnerved and even angered him; the Captain, too, had known Norrington. Could he not tell that the charges were absurd?

This was the atmosphere when the lookout spotted the distinctive sails of the _Black Pearl_ just north of Jamaica.

Aboard the _Pearl_, Jack Sparrow was standing at the wheel. They were within a week of reaching Tortuga; in other words, they were almost home free. No Navy ship would stand a chance in that haven of the pirates and normally none of them got this close. So when the cry of "Sail ho!" reached him as they neared the Windward Passage, he was not overly concerned.

"Where away?" he shouted.

"Two points abaft the starboard beam!" He could see Norrington look up from the section of rope he was splicing, a worried expression flitting across his face; Helena stood with a frown. They exchanged a glance; there was something wrong, they could both sense it. "She's a Frigate, Captain – flyin' British colors!" Jack started violently.

"_Bloody hell_," he muttered under his breath. He pulled out his telescope; a moment later he was swearing sulfurously.

"Seems I shouldn't have let morality get ahead of me," Jack said sourly. "They've found us." He handed the telescope to Norrington, who looked at the flag and bit back a curse. Jack had turned away.

"Load the guns! Grapeshot and run up the red flag! It may scare them off," he said before James could protest. "Hands to battle stations!" The hustle of the crew was mixed with the clink of weaponry. Jack turned to Norrington; his expression was apologetic.

"You'll 'ave to go below, mate. Can't 'ave your old friends seein' – " James shook his head.

"Three quarters of them wouldn't have recognized me out of uniform a month ago, much less now. I'm familiar with their battle tactics as well; if you don't want a massacre on both sides, I would say that you need me on deck." Jack raised an eyebrow; James turned to watch the ship approaching on the horizon. "Besides," he muttered for Jack's ears only, "Gillette is mine." Jack regarded Norrington for a moment with an amused expression and then started to laugh. He nodded in acquiescence.

"Alright, Jim." Norrington considered saying something about the name, but on second thought, anything was better than Ramrod. He nodded and hastened away; there was work to do, and quickly. Jack turned to Helena.

"You'd better get –" he started to say "below decks," but she stopped him.

"I'll stay with the surgeon."

"You won't like what you see," Jack started, thinking of the aftermath of a battle, but once again she shook her head.

"Perhaps not, but I'm a tailor's daughter, remember? The better the stitching, the smaller the scars," she said determinedly. He stared for a moment before, with a look of grudging admiration, he nodded.

"Very well, Miss Eaton."

The _Harrier_ caught up with them surprisingly quickly; it was perhaps two hours before the Navy frigate was within shouting distance. Jack relinquished the wheel to Annamaria; he would need to be on the move for this fight.

"Come about!" he shouted at the helmsman. "Ready the starboard guns!"

Groves watched as the _Pearl_ swung around to face them. The two vessels were armed to the teeth; this was not going to be a pretty battle, no, not at all. Cannon balls whistled through the air from the _Pearl_'s forward guns; there was a ripping sound in the rigging and heavy wooden splinters came raining down on some of the midshipmen.

"Be ready to fire!" Groves shouted.

"Hard to starboard!" Gillette was yelling as the faster ship bore down on them. The pirates could be heard already; Groves did his best to ignore the shouts, which were meant to intimidate. He observed the red flag flying from the _Pearl_'s main mast; his eyes widened in alarm and he resisted the urge to curse Gillette. What had he gotten them into?

As it turned out, what Gillette had gotten them into was a royal mess. The two ships drew even with each other; in the chaos of guns going off and men dying, Groves almost didn't hear Gillette's orders.

"Prepare to board!"

"_What?_"

"Prepare to board!"

"Have you gone mad!" Groves shouted, but he was inaudible in the roar of battle. Men had already begun to swing over to the _Pearl_; the first wave of marines fell midway between the ships or, if they were lucky, on the deck of the pirate ship, and Norrington, aboard the _Pearl_, watched in horror as Gillette, in a move born of suicidal desperation, drove still more men toward the pirate ship and their deaths. Some, however, did make it, and then the fight began in earnest.

Groves followed his men into the fray; someone, after all, would have to mop up the mess after Gillette got himself killed, as Groves knew he must. No other outcome could be had; the Captain was clearly lost to reason.

The situation was going rapidly downhill. Pirates and navy men hacked away at each other; Norrington sought Gillette in the confusion, knowing that the soldiers would keep coming unless someone ordered them to fall back. That order would not be forthcoming until the traitor was out of the way. Groves was likewise searching; there was, however, no sign of the Captain of the _Harrier_.

And then he locked eyes on one of the pirates. The man's long dark hair hung loose and heavy stubble covered his jaw, but his carriage gave him away; no normal pirate moved like that, nor did they fight with such style. Green eyes, noticing his gaze, begged understanding and trust; Groves nodded, more an inclination of his head than anything else. James Norrington was not just his commanding officer (and Groves still considered him to be that), he was his friend. He moved on, giving no indication that he had recognized James among the pirate crew; James gave a sigh of relief and dove into battle with a renewed sense of hope. There was, at least, one of his officers who had not betrayed him.

Gillette appeared a few minutes later. His gaze swept the deck and found Norrington almost immediately; as if they could sense one another, Norrington turned to face his former subordinate. His eyes flashed deep green with anger; this was the scum who had put his life in such a shambles and wasted the lives of so many others. Anger such as he had never felt boiled up within him; for the first time he could understand Sparrow's ten-year grudge. Gillette smirked and James felt something deep inside him snap. The Navy Captain raised his sword in a mocking salute and met the attack head-on.

He was not smirking a few moments later. Gillette had never, in all his experience as Norrington's second-in-command, seen the man lose his temper, but he certainly had now. There was a glint in Norrington's eye that spoke clearly of death; his blade hammered home relentlessly and Gillette was slowly backing his way around the deck, just barely defending himself against the barrage of blows. Another stroke would have finished him; he was sure of it, and yet, at that precise moment, something hit Norrington from behind. James staggered; there was a sharp pain in his right arm as Gillette's sword darted past his defenses for a moment. His next blow landed Norrington squarely on the deck, unconscious.

Jack saw Norrington go down; he was rushing across the deck a moment later, intercepting Gillette's blade as it flashed downward.

"That's not very nice," the pirate growled as the naval officer retreated, fear in his eyes. Jack advanced, intent on his prey. Gillette was doomed; he was not even half the swordsman that Jack was. His blade clattered to the deck moments later and he held up his hands as Jack held a sword to his throat.

"Call them off," the pirate ordered. Gillette nodded; he called the orders; the naval men looked confused at first until the situation became clear.

"Do it or I kill him," Jack shouted. The Marines backed away from the pirates; Jack's crew hurried to help their fallen comrades.

"Now," Jack ordered, "get back on your ship and tell Governor Swann that I said he's barking up the wrong tree. I won't kill you for taking orders from this piece of vermin." Gillette started to take a step forward as Jack eased up a little; he was stopped by the renewed presence of cold steel at his throat.

"Not you, Captain," Jack said with a warning bite to his voice. He was doing some quick thinking; he knew that Gillette had recognized James. Jack could not allow him to leave the ship with that knowledge.

Gillette looked well and truly terrified as his crew abandoned him with scarcely a backward glance. Jack gave a silent sigh of relief; it had been a gamble to assume that the First Lieutenant would prove to be more stable than his Captain, but it had paid off. He sheathed his sword.

"Gibbs, take him to the brig. Matthews, go with him," Jack ordered, turning Gillette over. He stooped next to Norrington and breathed a little easier to find that he was not badly injured; a few days on light duties perhaps and stitches for the cut on his arm. It would scar of course – James wouldn't like that, but it would help the pirate disguise along.

"Ah, Jamie, what will Philip say?" the pirate asked quietly with a slight grin, not noticing that James was just barely awake. When he looked down again, the other man's eyes were closed once more.

Norrington woke a few hours later to a pounding headache and a stinging pain in his arm. For a moment he was confused; what had happened? It came back to him as he woke up further; he had been knocked out in the fighting; one of Gillette's blows had grazed his arm. There was another memory, too, but that must have been a dream; the only man who had ever called him "Jamie" had been dead for twelve years. And yet, it had sounded like... he stopped himself. It had been a dream, nothing more.

Helena was resting against the wall in the surgery. Jack had been right; the last few hours had not been pretty. Two of the men had lost limbs; three were dead.

"I did warn you," a baritone voice said next to her. She turned; Jack had come to make his rounds among the wounded.

"More would have died if I hadn't been there," she said weakly. It was true; on a number of occasions, it had been touch-and-go, with some of the men bleeding profusely from their injuries.

"The surgeon said you were right useful," Jack acknowledged. "Not many women would do that, you know." She nodded, exhausted. He looked at her for a long moment before gesturing to Cotton.

"Take Miss Eaton to her cabin – no protests from you, Miss, you've done enough. Lie down before you fall down." At last she nodded; Cotton took her arm gently and led her away toward the first mate's cabin which she shared with Annamaria. Jack watched with a strange expression on his face until she disappeared up the stairs before turning to see to his wounded men.


	9. Philip and Arthur

Here it is: another chapter. I have been revising previous chapters and decided that I really didn't like Helena's last name, so it has now been changed to Eaton. Otherwise, everything should be as you left it. Have fun!

* * *

"Philip, if you pace any longer you're going to wear a track in the floor!"

The baronet stopped to glare at Arthur Huntingdon, who was seated in the desk chair in Philip's quarters, where the two had met to discuss their plan of action.

"I would like to see you sit still if it were your brother –" he stopped abruptly, suddenly remembering to whom he spoke. Arthur did indeed know the pain of losing a brother. He turned away.

"We need to speak to the Turners," he said, raking a hand through his hair. Philip's hair was not as dark as his brother's; indeed the two scarcely resembled each other except about the eyes and chin. At the moment, however, a distinctly James-ish frown marred the elder Norrington's handsome features; he began to pace again.

"We won't have much time. Buffington is bound to have us watched while we're here; he's behind this, mark my words. And if the Turners have any information at all, we can't have them finding out…" Arthur stirred suddenly; Philip stopped. He knew the look on the younger man's face; it usually meant trouble. "What have you got in mind?" he asked warily.

Arthur Huntingdon was a shrewd man. He had become the Earl of Northampton just five years ago, his father having died prematurely from a wasting disease, and he had become in very short order a force to reckoned with in Court. He was shorter than Philip by a good two inches and was possessed of his mother's eyes, dark orbs that saw everything. He had, while Philip had been pacing the room, been observing the unnatural thickness of the wall between his room and Philip's; a closer examination proved what he had suspected. There was a passage there; whether it had been built for spying or for the servants' use was unclear, but it was there nonetheless, he was sure. He grinned slowly.

"They'll have me watched. You however… I think you're going to become very unreasonable about the whole business. You'll stay in your rooms; you'll eat sparsely and refuse to discuss the matter. I'll be leading the spies on a wild goose chase while you…" here he got up and walked over to the wall in question. He narrowed his eyes and pressed firmly on some unseen lever. "You will be heading the investigation." The door swung open, revealing a narrow corridor which was full of dust and which led, from all appearances, downward and toward the kitchens. Arthur nodded in satisfaction while Philip gaped. "Care to pay a visit to the Turners?" the young Earl asked with a smirk.

A few inquiries brought them to Brown's smithy; the ringing of metal on metal confirmed Will Turner's presence. Philip pounded firmly on the door, aware that the noise would not otherwise be heard; the clanging stopped. There was a moment of silence before the door was wrenched open.

"For the last time-" Will started, expecting soldiers. He stopped abruptly when he saw the two lords standing in the doorway. "I'm sorry," he stammered, flushing slightly. "I thought – please come in." Arthur smiled tolerantly and passed him into the shop; Will frowned slightly. There was something about this man he recognized, perhaps his eyes or the way he moved. He couldn't quite place it; he stored the information away for later.

"How can I help you, my lords?" he asked politely, observing the fine clothes that both wore. Philip regarded him very seriously.

"You can tell me where my brother is, to start," he said. It was a hunch, no more, but his suspicions were confirmed when Will twitched slightly.

"I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, my lord," he replied, frowning. He had a feeling, certainly; Philip's eyes, unlike Arthur's, were almost unmistakably the same as James's.

"Perhaps we should start with introductions," Arthur suggested. "I am Lord Huntingdon, the Earl of Northampton. My anxious friend is Sir Philip Norrington; as you can imagine, he's a little worried just now." Will hesitated.

"There is no one listening," Arthur reassured him. "We made sure of that before coming here." Will frowned. It was all very well for Huntingdon to say that, he thought, but he did not know either of these lords; he had never heard that any high-ranking members of the court were particularly loyal to their own kin.

"I'm sorry, my lords, but I truly have no idea where Commodore Norrington is right now," he answered firmly. Arthur seemed caught between exasperation and admiration; Philip merely looked frustrated.

"No one else could have helped him out of that cell," the elder Norrington sibling insisted, intense now. "No one else has even bothered to protest this… farce. I am no fool, Mr. Turner; where is James?" Something about the way he said all of this must have convinced Will; he could see the younger man relax ever so slightly. The blacksmith looked between the lords one moment longer before nodding wordlessly.

"He is safely off this island; that is all I can tell you for now. I didn't ask where they were headed." Philip breathed a silent sigh of relief; James was safe.

"James is fortunate to have friends like you," Arthur observed. Will ducked his head, acknowledging the praise.

"Please, sit down," he murmured, slightly embarrassed. Arthur was the first to accept the invitation; he sat with an easy grace, making the step on which he sat seem like a king's throne. Once again Will wondered where he had seen this man before, or someone like him. Philip moved a little more stiffly; traces of his brother were visible in the way he held himself. He was clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

"Mr. Turner – " Will started slightly, realizing that he had been studying Lord Huntingdon's features in an attempt to place them. "Is there something?" Arthur asked, half exasperated.

"I'm sorry – you just… never mind. Please-" Will stammered.

"We are trying to clear my brother's name. To that end we will need all the information we can get about James's activities in these past few months; if someone wants him dead, we need to know why before we can find out whom," Philip said seriously. Will frowned.

"I don't know much – he's the Commodore and I'm the blacksmith. I know he's been gone from Port Royal a few times in the last months – I'm not sure where he's been going, though. You might try some of his lieutenants or his office – not Gillette. He told me before he left that Gillette is working for whoever set him up." Philip stared incredulously.

"His own men have betrayed him?" he asked. The situation was looking more and more bleak. One crooked lieutenant, now Captain, others with questionable loyalties, an uncooperative Governor, and the two Buffingtons, who would doubtless find a way to deny them access to James's office until all potentially useful information had been destroyed.

"That's what he said," Will replied. He looked nervously toward the door. "You had better go, my lords," he said. "You'll be missed before long…" Philip grasped desperately at one last straw.

"Might your wife know anything? I'm told that she and James were on good terms." Will's frown lifted.

"She may. You'll have to ask her another time… it's been nearly an hour, Sir Philip, they're bound to come looking soon." The nobleman nodded; he extended his hand.

"You've been a great help, Mr. Turner. I'll be back the day after tomorrow to speak with your wife." Will smiled slightly.

"Please call me Will. If we're going to work together, you may as well." Arthur smiled.

"And it's Arthur and Philip. Good day, Will." With that they were gone, heading back up the hill towards the Governor's mansion.


	10. Tortuga

I'm back! My muse went on a vacation, but she seems to be back now, so… on with the story!

* * *

They made Tortuga's docks three days after the fight with the _Harrier_. And a good thing, too, Gibbs thought; they all needed time ashore and one of them more than the others.

James had gone down to the brig the day after the battle, perhaps out of some obscure sense of duty to the man who had once been his friend. Gibbs privately thought that he was daft for even wanting to see Gillette, but Norrington had been adamant; he had to know why, he said. Jack had finally acquiesced and "Ramrod" had gone down. He had been melancholy ever since; when questioned he would not say what had happened, but clearly whatever the Captain of the _Harrier_ had said had been disheartening. To Gibbs' way of thinking, a night in Tortuga would go a long way toward making their newest crew member forget his troubles.

James, however, did not join the rest when the gangplank was lowered; Gibbs gave a disbelieving snort when he realized that the man honestly did not intend to go into Tortuga but rather stay on the _Pearl_. He had heard of being a workaholic, but for Pete's sake…!

"Oi, Ramrod, you coming?" he shouted, stopping halfway down the gangplank.

"No, thank you. I'd rather not," James answered calmly, never looking up from the book in his hand. He had borrowed a few things out of Jack's library recently; he had every intention of reading his way straight through this stop.

" 't won't do any good te sit here and mope, Jim," Gibbs said reasonably. "Take a bit of advice from old Gibbs; go into town, have a flagon or two o' rum, and find a nice girl te spend the night with. There's no good to be had o' worryin' it like a dog with a bone. Come with me."

"There is already a lady aboard the ship, or had you forgotten?" James asked acidly. "She cannot be expected…" but Gibbs cut him off.

"Cotton and Cook are stayin' on board te guard the ship – they'll look after Miss Helena just fine on their own." James hesitated; it was tempting to be sure. But he had sworn…

"Just one drink, no more," he said. He would simply not allow himself to become drunk, he resolved, finally giving in to Gibbs' suggestion.

"Not a drop more," Gibbs promised. James stood up and, firmly dismissing his misgivings for the moment, he followed Gibbs off the ship.

He woke the next morning to the sound of a drum pounding right next to his head. Certainly that was what it felt like; his head throbbed with every heartbeat. He moaned as the light hit his eyes, adding to his misery.

Memories of the night before come to him in bits and pieces; he thought he remembered a tavern and more than one flagon of rum. Someone had suggested that he didn't look much like a pirate – there had been some talk of getting a – dear God. A horrible suspicion dawned on him and he looked down. Sure enough, on the left side of his chest there was a fresh tattoo, what looked like a sheep's head with… were those words beneath it…? Yes – the name "Ramrod Jim" was emblazoned below the image. James closed his eyes tightly; he was having a nightmare, he had to be. He opened them again; no, he was awake alright.

Oh Lord.

He slowly looked around; he was on the _Pearl_. Gibbs must have brought him back – hold on. Hadn't it been Gibbs who had suggested – ah, he couldn't think for the headache! A pair of familiar but very unwelcome dark eyes swam into view.

"Go away," he managed. Gibbs laughed; James winced.

"Feeling a little under the weather, Jim?"

"You should know," came the retort. Gibbs grinned.

"Aye, and so do most of the crew," he said, gesturing to James' new decoration. James groaned. How on Earth had he allowed himself to get so drunk as to get a tattoo, much less one with that abominable nickname?

"Bloody pirate," he accused. This time it was Annamaria who answered him.

"And you're not, Ramrod?" She tossed him a shirt and he flushed as he realized that he had been lying on deck half-clothed. "Get dressed," she advised with a wicked smirk.

* * *

Helena was in trouble. She had no idea where she was; one moment she was running from Buffington again and the next she woke to find herself in the Tortugan street. With a sinking feeling, she realized that she must have reverted to her old habit of sleepwalking; it was a normal occurrence when she was stressed, and the last month had been one long nightmare for her. She had been walking for what seemed like days, able to smell the harbor but never to get close enough to find the ship. She didn't dare ask directions; none of the men in this town were trustworthy and so she was on her own. She turned down yet another darkened street, wondering how she was ever going to get out of this mess, when a hand caught hold of her arm from behind. She turned to find a balding, stinking pirate leering at her, his intentions all too obvious. His grip was strong; she tried to twist away but found herself pinned even more firmly. She turned her face away…and suddenly heard a familiar voice.

"I don't think you want to be doin' that, mate," Jack Sparrow said. The other pirate spun around to find a pistol pointed at his head; he slowly backed away, letting Helena go. Jack cocked the pistol and the man took off at a dead run down the street. Sparrow waited until the man was out of sight before uncocking the pistol.

"Are you alright?" he asked. Helena nodded shakily; she was indeed fine, at least physically.

"If I may be so bold, what are you doing out here, luv?" he asked, an expression of both concern and exasperation crossing his face. "Tortuga's no place for a lady, as you may've noticed."

"I was sleepwalking," she replied shortly. "It happens occasionally; normally I don't get this far." Jack regarded her a moment longer.

"You'd best come with me," he said finally. "If I send you back to the ship you're liable to tip overboard next time." Helena, unfortunately, took the comment entirely the wrong way.

"It's not a normal habit, if that's what you think, Captain," she snapped, her temper made short by her recent fright. "I'm not insane, contrary to popular opinion, and I'm not going to fall into your bed just because you saved me from that… brigand." Jack appeared taken aback.

"I wasn't suggestin' that, luv," he said. He had abandoned his normal drunken swagger; his expression was suddenly very serious. "I don't want to see you get hurt, nor do I want to have the good Commodore's sword run through my gullet. You can stay with me for tonight an' I'll take you back to the _Pearl_ in the morning, dignity and honor still intact. Agreed?" Helena regarded him suspiciously for a moment and then nodded. Without another word, she followed him up the street and into one of Tortuga's many inns.

It was about half-way through the night when Jack heard the sound of a woman weeping. He had been sleeping outside the door for propriety's sake, having spent entirely too much time around James, but he sat up at the sound; the lamentation was coming from inside the room. He pushed the door open slightly to find Helena sitting upright on the bed, her face in her hands.

She did not know why she was doing this now; it had been a month and more since her flight from Port Royal, and by all rights she should have gotten this over with immediately, rather than putting it off like this. However, something about the night's events had shaken her and she had woken herself up crying. She heard the door creak and buried her face in her hands, attempting to hide her tear-stained face.

"I wondered when you'd be doing this," a voice said behind her. Helena just shook her head; she could not think straight, much less handle Jack Sparrow's larking about right now.

"Please go," she managed to get out in a hoarse whisper.

"Can't do that, luv," he replied. He moved further into the room and sat down on the bed next to her. She moved away a little; he didn't.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" she asked, both surprised and afraid.

"Where I come from you don't leave a lady to cry," he replied softly. That did it; Helena collapsed, the weight of the past month's happenings finally coming crashing in on her. Jack simply held her, allowing her to cry against him. At last the weeping subsided and she looked up, aware that she must look terrible. Some women could cry and only be more attractive; Helena wasn't one of them and she knew it.

"I'm sorry," she started, reaching for a handkerchief and realizing that she had none. The pirate offered her his sash; it was rough, but under the circumstances it would have to do. An awkward silence prevailed between them before, with a pat on the shoulder, Jack got up off the bed.

"You'll be alright, then?" he asked. Helena nodded; he inclined his head and walked away, shutting the door behind him as he went.


	11. Dead Men Do Tell Tales

True to his word, Jack escorted Helena back to the _Pearl_ the next morning after meeting with Annamaria. Or rather, he tried to.

They were just barely in sight of the docks when it happened; all the warning they got was Helena's surprised cry as she was pulled away from Jack's side. Surprise quickly turned to anger however as she recognized the pirate who had accosted her the night before. She kneed the man viciously in the groin and twisted away. But this time the pirate was not alone; there were at least five others, clearly come to settle the score. Within minutes a fight had broken out; bullets flew and steel clashed, adding to the overall raucousness in the streets. Helena looked on helplessly; she wore no weapon and would have had very little idea of how to use one even if she had.

They were badly outnumbered. Annamaria and Jack were fighting almost back to back, and the fight was still going badly. Anna's eyes met Helena's for a moment and the younger woman knew that she had to do something. She could not fight, but she could run for help. Helena nodded; she took a deep breath and ran for the _Pearl_.

"Commo – James!" The title was cut short as Helena remembered that it was not to be used here. Norrington looked up from his work sharply. He, at least, had learned his lesson about Tortuga's taverns and remained aboard the ship since his return. Helena appeared on the deck, her breath coming short from running and her hair straggling out of its tie; James stood up quickly.

"What is it?" He did not even bother asking how she had gotten off the ship; that question could wait until later.

"Jack and Anna are in trouble– we were ambushed down one of the back alleys. Six or seven men – they need help!" Norrington swore internally.

"Stay here," he ordered, taking off at a run.

It did not take him long to locate them among the general turmoil that was Tortuga. The little fight had become a general brawl; bullets flew and the clang of steel was audible from the docks. He arrived just in time to see Jack crumple to the ground as he was hit from behind with the butt of a pistol. Norrington didn't think about it; he dodged his way through the crossfire and knelt down next to the unconscious pirate. He slung Jack over his shoulder even as Annamaria emerged from between two pirates, breathing heavily but unharmed, and somehow they managed to bring the injured man back to the _Pearl_.

When Norrington returned with the surgeon, Jack was still unconscious and lying in his cabin.

"'E 'ad a bad bump on 'is 'ead," the surgeon, a pirate of about forty years of age, advised. "'E'll be out fer a few hours yet." James nodded; the surgeon stood and left, letting Helena in as he did. She stopped when she saw Norrington sitting next to the bed.

"I'm sorry, I heard…" James shook his head.

"Come in, by all means," he invited, standing to offer the chair as was proper. He turned to leave when Jack shifted; a low moan escaped his lips.

"Arthur," he murmured. His voice had changed; all trace of the Cockney was gone, leaving in its place a high-born drawl. "Jamie? What – no!" Helena reached out a hand as though to soothe the pirate; Norrington froze. He turned back, his mind slowly going over the few hints he had had of Jack's past and added this new piece to the puzzle. He knew that voice; more, he knew those names. Arthur was the current Earl of Northampton and Jamie… although he had not heard the nickname in twelve years, the sound of it was still familiar to his ears. Could it be? He had thought, that night at the wedding….

"Jack?" he murmured, wondering. The pirate quieted. Helena looked at Norrington questioningly; he shook his head. "You have a lot of explaining to do, old friend," he murmured to the now silent pirate. He turned to Helena. "Take care of him." With that he left the cabin, aware that the ship's crew still needed help with repairs.

Jack Sparrow awoke with the worst headache he had had in a long while. Had he gotten drunk the night before? He racked his brain but could not remember.

"You're awake," a voice said beside him. Jack jumped slightly, then held his aching head and moaned at both the movement and the noise. He remembered now; he had been walloped over the head during the fight that morning… and Helena Eaton was sitting by the bed. Why would she be here?

Helena had taken over the task of looking after the captain for the surgeon, who had other wounded to attend to. Anna was likewise busy, and so the job had fallen to the only other woman aboard ship with any time to spare. She had been told by the surgeon to make sure that Jack acted normally (or as close to normal as he was likely to get) when he woke.

"How do you feel?" she inquired. Jack groaned.

"Where's the bloody hammer and tongs?" he asked in reply. Helena frowned in confusion for a moment before she understood what the pirate was saying. She laughed; Jack winced and tried to wrap the pillow around his head to act as a buffer for the noise. Helena stopped, realizing her mistake.

"I'm sorry. Would you like me to leave?" she asked, more softly now.

"Only if it's to get me something to drink," the pirate replied. Helena shook her head.

"The surgeon said you're not to have anything except water for at least a few hours," she replied, knowing by now that when Jack said something to drink he meant something alcoholic, be it rum, brandy, or ale. Jack scowled.

"Ingrate," he muttered. The headache had subsided a bit; he shifted a bit until he was sitting up, reclining against the headboard such as it was. Another thought occurred to him; he had been in a back alley in the seedy section of Tortuga when he had been hit. How had he wound up here?

"Commodore Norrington brought you back," Helena said softly, almost as if she were reading his mind. He turned his head to look at her, startled.

"Is something wrong?" the tailor's daughter asked, concerned at his reaction.

"No... No." He shook that thought from his mind and turned again to the woman who sat next to the bed.

"What are you doing here, luv?" he asked bluntly.

"I was told to look after you until you came to. The surgeon wants to be sure the blow didn't do permanent damage." Jack snorted.

"He's half convinced I'm already daft; a little tap on the head can't do any harm. However a lack of sustenance…" he left the sentence hanging suggestively, glancing mournfully at the empty rum bottle on the floor by the bed.

"No rum. Behave or I'll tell him you're a raving lunatic who needs to be locked away," Helena replied firmly but not without humor. Jack did not laugh; his expression became thoughtful.

"Now that I'm not, luv." A silence settled between them; Helena broke it after a few moments by clearing her throat.

"I'll tell James that you're awake; he wanted to speak with you." She stood and turned toward the door.

"Helena…" Jack said behind her. She turned back.

"Captain Sparrow?" Jack hesitated a moment before he answered.

"Thanks for the company."

"My pleasure - Jack," she replied with a smile. This time she turned and left the cabin, leaving behind a pensive pirate.

Norrington did not, in fact, come to see Sparrow until the next day. He, like the rest of the crew, was occupied with repairs after the battle with the Harrier. Jack had just finished dressing when James knocked on the door.

"Come in," Jack called, adjusting the bandana around his head and reaching for his hat. He stopped abruptly when he saw Norrington's face. "What is it?"

James shut the door behind him with a snap. Warning voices began to murmur in Jack's head; he knew all the signs of an angry James Norrington, or he had used to, and he was seeing them now. Uneasily he wondered what was amiss.

"Jack, we need to talk." The warning bells turned into a shriek of alarm. Jack. Not Sparrow, not Captain – Jack. Something was seriously wrong here.

"We on first name terms now, James?" he asked lightly, trying to gauge the severity of the situation.

"We were at one time," James answered in a stiff tone.

Jack's stomach dropped into his boots. His hand hung in midair for a moment; he stared, open-mouthed, confirming James's suspicions.

Jack's hand dropped to his side; he looked suddenly weary. "How'd you know?" he asked. He had dropped the Cockney at last and now his natural voice came through; he tried to decide whether James's expression was angry or merely hurt.

"You were unconscious; you called for me and Arthur." Jack shook his head.

"You always were too smart for your own good, Jamie," he said simply. James shook his head angrily.

"Don't you Jamie me. Why didn't you say anything? Why did you – damn it Jack I thought you were dead! And you would have been too – I nearly killed you! Why didn't you say anything last year? _What happened?_ " Jack sighed. He'd known this would happen eventually; James was indeed too smart to be fooled forever. Did it have to be right now, though?

"You remember in Port Royal I told you that if you had killed Buffington you deserved a medal –"

"I didn't kill him!" James protested. Jack shook his head.

"Pity; someone beat us both to him then. You'd want him dead too if you knew what he'd done over the years."

_/Flashback/_

_The fighting raged all around him. It was the middle watch, a time which would otherwise be deadly boring, but not tonight. Pirates, suicidal bloody pirates, had attacked the **Victory**, though what their object was Jack Huntingdon could not understand. Surely there was no gain to be had from attacking a Navy ship-of-the-line, one that outgunned the pirates' Brigantine by about 50 cannons! And yet attack they did, and so the young Lieutenant was in the thick of the battle. He finished off one opponent, turned to meet the next… and felt the touch of a pistol at his head. The pirate before him put up his sword; Jack turned to meet the owner of the pistol. _

_A pair of very familiar cold blue eyes met him. "Ah, young Master Huntingdon; the very man I wished to speak to." _

_"Lord Buffington...you're a parasite for sore eyes," he greeted the marquis. Buffington cocked the pistol._

_"We can shorten this interview if you wish," he said. Jack held up his hands; Buffington uncocked the pistol. "I thought you would prove to be reasonable," he said conversationally._

_"Depends on the subject, my lord," Jack replied. "What's the occasion?" The tension was thick enough to be cut with a knife, and yet they might have been at Whitehall for the tone of the conversation._

_"Well you see John, you've become a bit of a thorn in my side of late. The affair with the merchant was a tad awkward, and the incident last month… curiosity killed the cat, as they say. I can't promise that certain members of your family would be safe if you returned to England with what you know. You have a sister, I believe, and my sons are unmarried…"_

_"Father would never agree!" Jack exclaimed, unable to contain his horror at what Buffington suggested. The marquis smiled maliciously. _

_"You have a choice, boy. Either you go with these fine gentlemen-" he gestured to the pirates behind him, "and are never seen again, or I am afraid…your friend Mr. Norrington is aboard this ship, is he not?" A lump of cold fear settled in Jack's throat. That one had hit too close to home, and made their meaning perfectly clear; if they could not get to his sister they would move on to other members of his family, or to his friends. He could not allow that to happen, no matter what the consequence for him. _

_"Go with them?" he asked hoarsely._

_"Never to be seen or heard from in England again. What you do with the rest of your life is your own affair; young Master Huntingdon will have died in battle, a noble and honorable demise." _

_"On one condition," Jack said, swallowing the part of him that screamed a terrified defiance. "You will swear not to harm my family or the Norringtons at any time in the future or cause them to be harmed. Swear it or I'll blow your guts out." He had gotten his pistol out of its holster now; he could shoot Buffington dead before any of them had a chance to do a thing and Buffington knew it. The marquis raised an eyebrow._

_"You will make a fine pirate, Master Huntingdon. I will harm none of your family or young Mr. Norrington's on pain of death, nor will I allow any more of the crew of this ship to be harmed than necessary." Jack watched him for a long moment before dropping the pistol and nodding bitterly._

_"Take him away," Buffington ordered. Jack was led away by the pirates; he stripped his jacket off before following them across to their brig…_

_/End Flashback/_

"They wouldn't let me go once I'd come aboard, of course," he continued. "I became a part of the crew, albeit reluctantly at first. I got used to it quick enough; I was too far in to back out even if I'd wanted to when the East India Company caught us. I was the only one who survived of the crew; I took a different name and tried to disappear for good. I signed aboard the Pearl when I made it to Tortuga and became Captain after a bit of a scuffle one night. You know the rest."

James had been listening with stony face and growing incredulity. Jack had been right; it was a good thing that Buffington was already dead, because if he hadn't been James would have killed him. That was, if Jack had been telling the truth. But then, he had no reason not to, and so James chose to believe him for the time being.

"Is _he_ the reason you came to Port Royal the night of the wedding?" he asked. Jack looked wounded.

"You don't think I came to see Elizabeth and the whelp?" he asked, giving the younger man his best innocent look. James frowned.

"No," he answered bluntly. Jack dropped the act with a sigh.

"Ah well, worth a try. Yes, he was. I'd heard that the bastard was going to be there; I wanted to finish him off myself but someone got there first."

"Why didn't you tell me last year?"

"To what point and purpose? So that you would have known who you were hanging and felt all the worse about it? So that you could do… what, James?"

"So that I could have… I don't know… given you the keys and let you escape! Something! Anything!" James regarded his old friend with frustration, clearly horrified at the thought of what he had nearly done.

"Water under the bridge, Jamie," Jack said with a shake of his head. "It didn't happen; no point in could-have-been. Tell me what I've missed back home." James stared at him for a long moment, unsure of what to say, before shaking his head.

"Bloody pirate," he muttered. He gathered his thoughts for a moment before beginning to recount the happenings of the past twelve years.


	12. An Officer and a Gentleman

Many apologies for the delay and the short chapter; I absolutely promise more soon. I am on summer break now, so I should be able to put more time into this and all my other writings.

* * *

The Harrier pulled into Port Royal two months after she had left. There was nothing visibly wrong with her; in fact, she seemed to be in better shape than when she had left. Governor Swann could not help but notice the difference; could it be that Norrington had returned, for surely the Commodore would not allow Gillette to continue to mistreat the crew and the ship? A frown marred Frederick Buffington's face as he considered the same possibility; he glanced at Philip Norrington only to find that the baronet was wearing a neutral expression.

There was no sign of Commodore Norrington in the landing crew, however, and Governor Swann was surprised to find himself breathing a sigh of relief. Quite apart from his political problems, he was not sure that there was enough evidence to keep Buffington from hanging James on the spot, much less convince him to take the matter to trial. A moment later he was frowning as he noticed that not only was there no sign of the Commodore, but the Captain was similarly nowhere in evidence. Instead of the short, nervous Gillette, a slightly weary-looking Lieutenant, Groves if he remembered correctly, stepped forward to meet them.

"Lieutenant Groves reporting in place of Captain Gillette, your Excellency, my lords," he said, offering a rather stiff bow.

"And what, may one enquire, has become of Captain Gillette?" Buffington asked sharply.

"I regret to say that we came upon the _Black Pearl_ in our search for Commodore Norrington. Captain Gillette was captured during the ensuing action," Groves replied calmly.

"They intend to hold him for ransom?"

"I should expect so, my lord, yes."

"They would have no other reason to take him captive?" At this, Groves gave the Marquis a quizzical look while the Governor frowned and Philip Norrington raised one eyebrow.

"What are you suggesting, Lord Buffington?" he asked. "Pirates take prisoners on a regular basis; surely you are well-acquainted with the practice?" Frederick watched him narrowly for a moment before replying.

"Of course," he said stiffly, letting the matter drop for the moment. "Was there any sign of Commodore Norrington during the voyage?" he asked coolly. It took every ounce of self-control Groves possessed not to give the game away; in the end, however, he was able to look Lord Buffington in the eyes as he replied, lying just as composedly as Buffington himself would have done.

"No, my lord, there was no sign of the Commodore." In a way it was true, Groves thought privately; he had seen no sign of any Commodore aboard the Black Pearl, only an exceptionally tall, familiar-looking pirate. To his credit, Sir Philip did not react to this casual deceit; his eyes met Groves' for a split second and then he looked away, seemingly disinterested in anything further the Lieutenant said. Internally he breathed a sigh of relief; it was good to see that at least one of the Naval officers was not in Buffington's pocket.

Frederick Buffington, however, was nothing if not perceptive. His eyes narrowed at the negative response and he stared at Groves for a long moment, during which the Lieutenant endeavored to appear politely curious. Finally the elder Buffington looked away with a sniff.

"Well, I should say it is quite obvious that the Royal Navy has become lax in its duties. First you fail to properly guard a dangerous prisoner and now you lose a pirate ship for the – third? – time. What have you to say for yourself?"

Groves took a deep breath before replying. "We will apprehend your father's murderer, I promise you Lord Buffington, as we will the pirates that sail these waters. If I may be excused, my lords, I should oversee the unloading of the wounded." Buffington nodded curtly; the Governor waved a hand in permission, a helpless expression on his face. Groves turned on his heel and walked away, sparing a nod to Sir Philip and Lord Huntingdon.

He was fuming as he left the Governor's office. Dangerous prisoner?! _Lax in his duties?!_ How dare that noxious ferret judge James or the Royal Navy? If Groves had not known better he would have said that Buffington had it in for the Navy as a whole, not just Commodore Norrington.

He wandered through the fort, troubled at that last thought. Buffington certainly was out to taste blood, specifically James's. Groves doubted that the Marquis would be satisfied with anything else at this point, no matter what the evidence of James's innocence. Could it be that Buffington had some sort of grudge against the Commodore? And if he did, to what lengths would he go for revenge? Would he, perhaps, frame James for murder and then pay Gillette to help him when his initial plan failed?

He thought about the look on Buffington's face when he had denied seeing Norrington. The man's eyes had been cold, absolutely frigid. They were not the eyes of a man who was merely angry; they were the eyes of a man who had seen yet another plan thwarted, the eyes of a courtier, and Groves had never known anything good to come out of a courtier's schemes. He did not know much of the Court but he knew that the look in Buffington's eyes had frightened him where skeletal pirates had not; it promised death, and death there would be if Groves didn't do something. He was not surprised to find that his feet had led him to the Admiralty Court; he stepped inside with a feeling of grim determination. He would find a way to save his friend and if he had to bring down Buffington to do so, then so be it.

The first step would be the office, he decided. If he could get inside the Commodore's office to have a look at his paperwork, then he might be able to find some explanation for Buffington's behavior; he would have to do so without the interference of the Admiralty or of the Buffington brothers though, and to do that he needed authorization from one of the Lords of the Admiralty. To do that he would need a solid reason for his suspicions, not just an odd feeling about the elder Buffington and a conviction that James was not a murderer. It was either that or… his face split in a satisfied grin as he turned his steps toward the office of one Admiral Edward Vernon.

* * *

A.N. - Edward Vernon was in fact stationed in the West Indies around 1720; however, in actual fact, he was the Commodore of Port Royal at that time (grin). 


End file.
